


By This, And Only This, We Have Existed

by UnsuspectingYandere



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Background Relationships, Ben Solo Lives, Force Dyad (Star Wars), Gen, Jakku Lore, Kylo Ren Redemption, My First Work in This Fandom, Not A Reylo Fic, Platonic Soulmates, Redeemed Ben Solo, Rey is Not a Palpatine, Rey was a desert child long before she was a Jedi, Temporary Character Death, That's Not How The Force Works, this has consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:41:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24519373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnsuspectingYandere/pseuds/UnsuspectingYandere
Summary: Rey dies on Exegol, but Ben Solo lives. Ben Solo dies on Exegol, but Rey lives. Perhaps, in another world, where Rey has turned her back on a lifetime of knowledge to follow the teachings of a Jedi she has known for mere days, this would be the end of the story.But this is not that world, and this is not that story.Rey dies on Exegol, but Ben Solo lives. Ben Solo dies on Exegol, but Rey lives. There is a gaping wound in her soul, a dyad ripped to shreds. She does not let this stand.
Relationships: Background Poe Dameron/Finn/Rey, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	1. These Fragments I Have Shored Against My Ruins

Rey knows, as waves of Dark energy tear themselves free of Palpatine’s crumbling corpse, generating shock-waves strong enough to bring the auditorium down around her, that her time in this galaxy is over. She’s only felt the faintest echo of Kylo - no, _Ben’s_ Force presence since he was thrown into the chasm; now, she feels nothing at all, not even echoes from the worshippers who died or were dying in the rubble. The Jedi of Old who whispered to her had left after the defeat of the emperor, dissolving into stardust on her tongue. Her exhausted body collapses, and she lacks the energy to even soften the fall; the fact that the state of her body soon will not matter is of little comfort. Had she the strength, she would roll over and cast her gaze towards the skies and let the last things she see be the people she loves, but she can’t. She _can’t._

Her friends, she knows, are flying above her, ripping through the Order’s crippled fleet, and she hopes they can forgive her for never making it off this planet so deeply mired in the Dark. 

The snap-spark of Poe’s frantic orange Self, the electric hum of Finn’s vibrating blue Self… she wants to feel them again, wants to curl her howling yellow Self around them and never be parted, her boys, _her boys,_ they who chose themselves and chose her in return… Rey loves them so dearly her heart feels it is tearing in two at the knowledge she is leaving them behind. With the last of her energy she mutters an old blessing whispered by those who were born from the sands of Jakku. _May the dunes part and guide you to clean water._ Prayers of safety, prayers of blessings - these are the only things she can give to those she loves now.

When she starts slipping into the Force, she sends the remnants of her Self up into the Resistance fleet, blanketing the brave soldiers and pilots who followed her to the bitter end in the echoes of her love. Her boys shine brightly even amongst the brilliant lights that comprise their allies, their Selves glittering warmly against her fading senses; she wraps her Self around them, weaving a desperate tapestry of love and adoration into their very beings, so that they’ll never doubt her feelings for them in the years they’ll face without her. Poe’s orange flickers and burns at the edges, hungrily consuming what she gives freely, and she knows she will live on in that hiss-spit-crackling flame; Finn’s blue hisses and snaps at the contact, and Finn, caring, hurting Finn, cries out in his soul, missing her before he even knows she's leaving. _"I love you,"_ she whispers into their hearts before slipping down, down, down, far away from where their voices can reach.

Rey dies in the smouldering ruins of Exegol.

She does not die without regrets.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_"You will not die on me."_

And she opens her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quietly slips in Poe/Finn/Rey because that's just the type of person I am.
> 
> Apologies for the short chapter, I tried making it longer but it just didn't work.


	2. You Only Know A Heap Of Broken Images

Falling is easy - the sensation of soaring, the wind grasping at his hair, the freedom of flight, ~~_his master rasping "I am the Beginning and the End, come to me and I shall serve you the galaxy on a platter," the screaming of his fellow padawan as he cut them down in rage_~~ but stopping is the hard part. The Force is _screaming_ and he weakly reaches out to wrap it around his battered body, using it to protect what is most vulnerable as he desperately seeks purchase on the crumbling stones. _I can't leave Rey to face Him alone._ Broken fingers grasp at the cliff as he strangles a cry of pain. It's not the worst pain he's ever felt, but with his body and soul so weak from having its energy stolen by ~~his master~~ that _creature_ , his nerves send back the pain signals tenfold.

He cannot see it, but he can _feel_ the moment Rey defeats Palpatine, the Dark side of the Force shuddering and condensing before exploding outward. The claws of the Dark side that sunk his heart and poisoned his mind for so many years are violently ripped out and now, oh, _now_ he screams in earnest. His conversation with the memory of his father had loosened the Dark's hold, allowing some of the Light to seep in, but now the shadows are fully banished from his eyes and he can gaze clearly upon the destruction his hands have wrought. Rey shines brightly in their Force bond, her soul ringing out _victory-exhaustion-regret_ , and before he is able to send back _alive-exhaustion-fear-wonder_ , she vanishes. Something in his chest shatters.

_It hurts._

Slowly, painfully, he ascends the jagged walls, bloody hands leaving bloody stains on dark, unforgiving stone. The distant, echoing screams of the Sith followers have died down, and the auditorium is no longer raining shrapnel down upon his weakened body. He should be able to feel Rey's presence clearly in the Force, her warm Light a blazing torch burning brightly in the recesses of his mind. There is nothing. He climbs faster. 

When he finally crests over the top of the cliff, he urges his broken body to stand, to walk, to _move_ towards the body lying on the floor, haloed in filthy light. She doesn't stir as he pulls her into his lap, no _fear-determination-wariness-trust_ skittering down their shared bond. There is no pulse when he checks, and her eyes see everything but understand nothing. Maybe this is his final punishment. _You break everything you touch._

His palm rests on her stomach, a grim mirror to her touch on Kef Bir, that day she closed a lethal wound she inflicted on him while screaming _terror-loathing-apology_ in her soul. This time, she does not scream anything. She's gone, dissolved into stardust, and now he has to rebuild her from the remnants she left behind. Closing his eyes, he reaches out and finds her scattered among the Resistance ships, traces of her Force presence clinging to the pilots and fighters he hated so much. He gathers the pieces of her scattered self and rebuilds it in the hollow space where his heart should be. Her consciousness begins to reawaken, a sleepy _"Ben…?"_ whispered in the remnants of their bond.

His body is failing. His damaged spirit cannot provide this broken body with the energy required to live. Palpatine took more than anything in the galaxy could rebuild, and he knows that's what happened to Rey as well; weak as she is, her soul will not survive re-entry into her body. He looks at the broken pieces of his life and finds himself wanting. Kylo Ren - Ben Solo - an angry little boy growing up in the shadows of giants, looking for praise in all the wrong places; there is no place left for him in this bright future Rey and her companions carved out for themselves.

Carving apart his soul to replace the broken pieces in hers is the easiest decision he's ever made.

She awakens, weakly grasping his hand as she sits up. His vision is blurry, but her hand on his cheek is warm, _concern-gratitude-confusion_ sinking into his bones. It's the first time he's smiled, _truly_ smiled, in years. He presses his forehead against hers and laughs quietly, relieved, a “welcome back” he can’t give voice to anymore. He knows she’s safe, she’s whole, and so he lets go, falling, falling, falling.

He hopes she doesn't mourn him.

He doesn't deserve it.

  
  
  
  
  
  


_“This is not the ending you were seeking, and it is not the ending you will get.”_

There is a glint of light in the shadows of death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit, this is my favourite chapter. I had been debating whether or not I wanted to complete this fic, and for a while I was considering posting this chapter as a standalone. That's how much I liked it.


	3. Yet There The Nightingale Filled All The Desert With Inviolable Voice

There is a warm body in her arms and she aches with the need to say the death rites only she knows, but the desert spirits cannot reach out with their hands and mould his brittle bones into a home, cannot transform his cooling blood into a spring, cannot create life out of death on this cold, dead planet so far from the only home she’s ever known. The Force swirls in the void nestled between her ribs, an open wound bleeding out into the universe. She cannot live like this. She _refuses_ to live like this, refuses a future where her soul will bleed through her fingers with every breath. Her veins are thrumming with borrowed life, pieces of Ben’s thunderous grey Self slotting perfectly against her sunshine yellow, and the way their joined Selves glisten like scrap metal under the sun makes her close her burning eyes and reach, reach, _reach —_

_Be with me._

In the moment between breaths she is falling again, reaching a hand into the darkness and searching for the thin threads she had been taught about by the deities lurking in the shimmering desert heat. _“We are naught but a tapestry of our decisions,”_ Mira had taught the first desert children years and years ago, and while Rey is not one of the Their blood children, not a child spun from desert glass, she carries Jakku’s lessons in her bones and has followed Their teachings all her life (and while the shifting dunes of Jakku are cruel, Mira has always protected those who heed Their teachings well). She opens her eyes to a world dyed in the yellows and browns of the desert and knows from whispers across moonlit dunes that this is a manifestation of her Self, but it is not what she is looking for.

She takes a step and finds herself in a forest, lush and vibrant and utterly silent, but does not have time to marvel at the sight. In this moment she is not a Jedi (and if she is honest with herself she was never a Jedi, would never _be_ a Jedi); she is a Seeker, the one who finds the threads of a scattered Self. She stretches her senses wide, casting out a net to find that which she Seeks and finds a thin, tarnished thread of silver wrapped around the branch of a too-still tree. There is an echo of Ben’s life in the vibrant thread and she wraps it around her wrist, knowing she has now begun her Search in earnest.

She steps through unknown worlds - an endless cityscape, a raging blizzard, the rocky shoreline of a placid lake - reaching out to gather the silvery remnants of Ben’s Self, the thin cord increasing in size with each thread she finds, growing into a thick cord wrapped several times around her waist like a glittering serpent. Each step she takes brings her to a new, alien world, ones with no significance to her but must have some significance to the one she Seeks, and throughout her travels through this strange astral plane she holds the oldest desert prayer in her heart, the one Mira whispered as they rose from the shifting sands of Jakku, alive and powerful and achingly alone. _Let life spring from me._ Nowadays, those who lived in the safety and comfort of Jakku’s richer cities recited this only as a prayer of fertility, so that their families would be blessed with children to carry on their family name, but the scavengers of the desert knew what Mira’s prayer truly meant: _I cannot be alone. Do not make me live with half a soul._ It was the basis of Seeking: for those gifted enough to touch the edge of Mira’s domain, they could step into the world between worlds and find the threads of the recently departed. Should the Seeker be skilled enough, be _true_ in their Search for the threads of Self, they would be able to bring that person back to life in the moment between breaths. Of course, even though Rey was raised by the desert shades, knew the stories and rites, they had never shared how the deceased were revived, not truly, but with each step she takes, with each silvery thread she finds, she realises that she _knows_.

(She has _always_ known, because for all that she is not of Their blood she is one of Mira’s most faithful children, and They would never leave Their children to suffer a broken soul.)

With a final step she is back on the golden sands of Jakku, the great glowing cord of Ben’s Self weightlessly wrapped around her body. An unseen wind blows the glittering sand into a storm, blinding her vision, but she makes no move to protect herself from the stinging grains, does not close her eyes in this terrible storm. This storm, she knows, will not harm her. The heat settled within her bones hums and she reaches out, not with the Force like a Jedi would, but with her Self, her _soul_ . There is no fear in her. She does not fear the desert, does not fear the storm, does not fear _herself._ She speaks into the howling sands.

“Great Mira, Child of Desert Glass, I have found what I have Sought…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confused? Lost? Yeah, me too. I rewrote this chapter so many times I nearly gave up, and this was the best I could do.
> 
> On Mira and all this mysticism shit: I lay all the credit for inspiration at fialleril's feet for the amazing world-building they've done for Tatooine Slave Culture. However, as Jakku is not Tatooine, I couldn't borrow directly from that mythos, but the idea of different worlds having different religions called to me, so I did the best I could. I've never tried to create my own religion, so how successful I've been is in your hands.
> 
> On "She was never a Jedi, would never be a Jedi": just my opinion, but being a Jedi is a bit like being part of a religion. They all believe in a higher power (the Force) and believe it acts in a certain way, and that by following a strict code they can better serve it. If Rey has grown up with Jakku tales and fables all her life, has seen and interacted with the Force all her life filtered through the lens of Jakku beliefs, I feel like she would not see herself as "a Jedi".


	4. I Will Show You Fear In A Handful Of Dust

He does not expect to breathe again, to feel again, but suddenly there is warmth on his back. When he opens his eyes it is not to the ruins of Exegol but to an endless sea of golden sand and a faint whisper in his ear, so quiet he cannot make out the words. He sits up, sand falling from his clothes, and sees Rey silhouetted against the desert sun like a mirage. “But I saved you,” he whispers, broken. “I died so you would live. Why are you here? Why are you _dead_?” He wants to scream, to rage at the unfairness of it all, but death has stolen the energy required for such a display. Instead he simply slumps, bitterly accepting this final failure.

“I am not dead,” she says, walking over to him. She looks like one of the desert spirits Uncle Luke had told stories of when Ben was just a small boy, entities with powers both great and terrible. Her voice echos with something he doesn’t recognise but the Force curls around her, warm and comforting and utterly destructive. “ _You_ were dead, but now…” She trails off, kneeling in front of him. “Now, you are not. I have travelled throughout the world between worlds and found you, and Mira has gifted you with new life.” He does not know who Mira is, _what_ Mira is, but a cold shiver crawls up his spine at that name.

“The Jedi cannot bring someone back from death. Not even the Sith can do that,” and it burns to admit that the story of Darth Plagueis is false, that it is nothing more than a tale used to lure the desperate over to the Dark, but in death there are no secrets. He cannot lie to her. If he is truly alive, as she claims he is, he doubts he’ll ever be able to lie to her again.  
  
“I am not a Jedi.” The admission makes him reel. “I am not a Sith.” Her words are firm and filled with conviction, and he can do nothing but believe her even though her words do not make sense. “Ben, there is so much more to the galaxy than the Jedi or the Sith ever understood. That which you call the Force… it is not beholden to a master, does not take a single shape.” He should refute what she says as blasphemy, but in death there are no falsehoods. The heresy that falls from her lips is truth, and he does not know what he can say in the face of that. She smiles, something sad and small, as though she knows what he is thinking. Maybe she does. The connection between them is stronger than it had ever been in life, and he can feel her Force presence sitting warm in his chest, humming with understanding. He doesn’t know what he’s making her feel. He’s… _afraid_ to know.

Instead he asks, “How can I be alive when this is not Exegol? Surely you have not brought my body out into the desert on Force knows what planet to do… whatever it is you have done to bring me back.”

Instead of surprise or denial, she tilts her head back and laughs, her voice warm and coarse and joyful. “Oh, we are still on Exegol, physically,” she says. “But were you not listening to me? I travelled the world between worlds to find you, and that is where we are.” Reality shifts around him and he can see their bodies frozen in time amongst the ruins of the Sith temple even as he and Rey sit in the unshifting sand. Ben can do nothing but gape at the sight. There was nothing in any of his teachings that spoke of power like _this_ , and it is as awe-inspiring as it is terrifying. “Ben,” she says, and he tears his eyes away from that frozen scene to meet Rey’s gaze. “We cannot stay forever. The living can only stay here for as long as they are Seeking, and I have finished my quest. _I have found you again_ and I will bring you home.”

Suddenly he is gripped with a fear he has not felt since that night he awoke to see Uncle Luke kneeling at his bedside with his lightsaber lit, ready to strike him down. Returning to life means returning to face the consequences of his actions, and while he can accept that his crimes demand retribution, he is terrified. He wraps his arms around himself, fingers tightly grasping at cloth. “They’ll kill me,” he whispers and hates himself for it.

Rey does not break his gaze. “They will not,” she says, and in death there are no lies but how can she say that when she knows his sins? How can she believe that the Alliance will allow him to live when so many people, fighters and civilians alike, were tortured and killed by him? “Ben,” she says, but her voice echoes with that strange, unnerving power that makes the Force burn around her. “They will not spit in the face of Mira’s generosity. They will not kill me just to kill you.” He doesn’t understand. “Ben. Look at me. They cannot kill you without killing me, and they will not be cruel and petty enough to do that.” He looks at her, tries to see what she sees, but he still can’t understand. “Ben.” Her voice drips with power. “ _Look_.”

The air shimmers and suddenly he _sees_ , great glowing coils of silver and gold wrapped around the centre of their chests tying them together. “You said we were a dyad in the Force but you did not understand what that meant. One cannot live without the other. We are _tied._ ” He tries to speak but cannot find the words. It’s beautiful. It’s unnerving. The glittering cords fade out of sight, but now that he has seen them he understands what she means. “When you died my soul was bleeding out into the universe without yours there to balance it out. I will not suffer that pain again.” He understands, and she nods, that strange, terrifying power slowly fading into the comfortable hum he has come to recognise as her Force presence.

“But I don’t love you,” he says, unthinkingly, and claps a hand over his mouth, mortified. “I mean - I like you well enough - I just - if I _had_ to, maybe I could - I could _learn_ to like you like that, but -” The embarrassment coursing through his veins coupled with the amusement he can feel from Rey’s side of the bond makes him wish the sands would swallow him whole. Maybe if he just believes hard enough they will. For all his blustering, he’s not sure he _could_ love her the way couples do, but if his survival hinged on it he could at least go through the motions. At the very least, he wouldn’t hurt her. Not again. Never again.

Her laughter rings out in the desert even as his face burns in mortification. “I don’t love you like that either,” she says, fighting to bottle up her amusement, “I was merely stating a fact. We simply… balance each other out spiritually, that’s all.” That sounds… much easier than trying to pursue a romantic relationship with her. Her lips lift into a smirk. “Besides, I don’t think my boys would accept adding you into our relationship,” she adds, and even as he barks out a laugh he can’t deny the relief burning through his veins. He’s tired of trying to twist himself into being something he isn’t.

“Children, it’s time to go home,” says an achingly familiar voice, and he turns around to see his family, both of his parents and Uncle Luke, shimmering before him like a fuzzy hologram. Their wrinkles are less pronounced, years of stress vanishing in death, and his heart clenches when he realises that the last time he saw them this happy was before he turned away and hurt all of them. He wants to apologise, wants to run into his mother’s arms and sob the way he had as a child when waking from a nightmare, but he finds he cannot move forward, his body rooted in place. “I know, Ben,” says his father, “but we’ll have time to talk again later. Right now, you have to go home.” His mother nods in agreement, something so unusual Ben is blindsided by it, but Uncle Luke… Uncle Luke is staring at Rey.

“Child of Glass and Sand,” he says, and _oh_ , the weight those words carry is similar to the power that dripped from Rey’s and yet so very different, “the Great Mother has watched your quest.” For some reason, Rey’s mouth lifts into a smile. Uncle Luke’s does as well, as though they share a great secret Ben is not privy to. Somehow, he is _glad_ to not know it. “Did you find all that you were searching for?”

“Mira treats Their children well,” she replies as though that answers anything, and Uncle Luke nods, sage and wise and… understanding. “I am not a child of _your_ desert,” and Ben knows he is missing something here, “but I am honoured by your Mother’s gaze.” His uncle bows to her and turns to face him, bowing to him in silent apology. With that, his family fades into the desert sun. He tries to not feel hurt. “They are with you,” Rey murmurs as he turns to face her once again. “They are always with you. We are simply out of time, and they refused to delay us any longer. They will speak to you again and tell you things they do not wish me to hear, for I have already heard all I need to know.”

Suddenly there is a canteen of water in her hands, and she pours it into the sands. The desert begins to shift and heave, and something like a sigh rolls across the dunes. “Ben Solo,” she says, voice once again filled with terrifying power, “you have been reborn. Will you follow your Seeker back to life, or will you let the desert swallow your bones?” _It’s a ritual_ , he thinks, _and I have to finish it_. Words he has never heard lie heavy on his tongue, and he speaks them, the awful power filling Rey now coming from his mouth. There is water in his hands and he pours it into the desert. He is terrified. He is brave.

“Rey,” the name _Palpatine_ gets caught in his throat, _there are no lies in death_ whispers the desert once more and understanding burns like a blaster bolt to the chest _,_ “Great Seeker, as you have followed me into death I shall follow you back to life.” The desert consumes the water pouring from their hands, parched sands turning into shimmering waves of gold, and as the desert sun blinds him he sees Rey’s smile, sure and steady, before everything is consumed by white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-dah, Rey isn't a Palpatine! Why? Because I think it's stupid and J. J. can go suck on a lemon.
> 
> More bullshit mysticism but this time through Ben's perspective! I thought it would be fun to see how Ben and Rey interact when Rey holds all the pieces of the puzzle and Ben knows absolutely nothing. And yes, the brief appearance of the OG trio was a last minute addition, but I wanted them to appear so... there they are.
> 
> Luke and Rey's interaction is loosely based, again, of fialleril's wonderful Tatooine Slave Culture, but I didn't pull directly from that and instead left it vague. The reason Luke and Rey's "power" feels similar but different to Ben is because they are pulling power from different beliefs, so while they are both pulling power from desert deities (Tatooine and Jakku), they are not the same.


	5. When I Count, There Are Only You And I Together

Time and reality reassert themselves and she opens her eyes to ruin, but there is a warm body in her arms singing _alive, alive, alive,_ and that’s all she needs to know Mira has guided both of them safely home. She reaches out with her Self, soothing the quiet ache in Poe and Finn’s Selves from her painful, if temporary, death. Ben is clutching her tunic with wild desperation and she curls her Self around him too as she stands and pulls him up with her. _Confusion-terror-awe_ sits heavy on his side of the bond and she soothes it with _confidence-safety-determination_ , and the wild fear in Ben’s eyes slowly slides away to be replaced with shock and awe. “Welcome back to life, Ben Solo,” she says quietly, letting him clasp his hands on her forearms to prove that this is reality, that he truly is alive again.

(There is a reason they never touched in the desert.)

“You brought me back,” he murmurs.

“I did what needed to be done,” she replies, equally quiet.

“Your comrades will be unhappy,” he says, repeating his assertion from the desert.

“ _I did what needed to be done_ ,” she repeats, firm and unyielding. The Force thrums with agreement, and not even Ben can deny her words when the Force itself is shoving the truth in his face. She can see his Self, once again flowing through his body, the great gleaming silver now flecked with gold, and she knows that if she were to look at her Self, the reverse would be true. She does not tell him this. There are some things that only Mira’s children should know.

The Sith temple shudders and groans around them, great pieces of stone and metal breaking apart as they strike the ground, but the debris never touches them. She does not call his attention to this either. He is still dazed and unsteady, and if he realises that he is unconsciously using the Force in tandem with her to form a bubble of protection around them, he’ll draw back and she’ll have to shield both of them herself, a feat she is not confident in performing. “Come on, we need to leave,” she says, and being given a task to complete brings Ben’s wandering mind back to the present. He nods, and grips her left hand, palms clammy and shaking with minute tremors. Her right hand, her saber hand, is free. _He’s trusting me to protect him_. The silent show of trust is both terrifying and humbling. She attaches the Skywalker lightsabers to her belt. It’s time to leave.

They run through the crumbling ruins together, but through it all his hand never leaves hers, as though to lose her touch would break the spell and he’d find himself in the desert all over again. She doesn’t blame him for this. They reach the exit and stare at their ships and the temple collapses behind them with a final groan, burying the Darkness in its ruin. Ben’s grip tightens and the tidal wave of fear in his chest at the thought of separating has her saying, “We can both fit in the X-Wing, it’s not made for two but we’ll make it work.” It takes a lot of manoeuvring, ending with her sitting flush against his chest with his legs on either side of her, but in the end they both fit and take to the skies to join with her family again. This much physical contact, she thinks, helps Ben centre himself better, a reassurance that she is alive, that _he_ is alive, that they are both alive and have left the desert behind.

“I will not let them kill you,” she says softly, and her words hang heavy in the air. “They will make you face the consequences of your actions, but you will not die by their hands. I will not allow it.” He’s still scared, for all that he has accepted he will be forced to pay for his crimes, and she thinks of the little boy she never knew, wishes he had never set foot on this path. But, of course, there is no changing the flow of time. That which has been done cannot be undone. Ben Solo has been reborn from the ashes of Kylo Ren, but he will carry the burden of that name for the rest of his life. That, she thinks, is penance in itself. Regret sits heavy on Ben’s shoulders like a shroud, and being brought back to life is its own punishment.

(There is a pain only the dead know, and for all that she has brought him back, Ben Solo has died and known relief. To be brought back, to be forced to carry the weight of his sins once again…)

She turns communications back on, setting her com frequency to the one she and her boys agreed upon in the rushed moments between battles. There is a crackle and hiss of static before frantic voices fill the cockpit. “Rey? Rey, is that you?” Finn yells, desperate and hopeful, and she laughs fondly as Poe’s voice joins in. Ben flinches behind her and presses his face into her hair, as though he can shield himself from these voices.

“Yes, it’s me,” she replies, quietly wrapping her Self tighter around Ben to soothe his understandable unease. Her boys cheer, exultant at her defiance of death, and later she’ll tell them how close it came, how Ben snapped her up from the shadows of death at the cost of his life, how she slipped into the world between worlds to bring him back, but now is not the time. Now is a time for celebration, for joy, and she will not take that from them.

“Did you get him? Did you kill Palpatine?” Poe asks, voice wild in victory.

“Yes,” says Ben, hands shaking but voice steady and loud. “ _We_ got him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where do things go from here? It's up to you.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> *Mushu voice* I LIIIIIIIIIIIIVE
> 
> I was so upset with TROS (and the sequel trilogy as a whole) that I wrote half of this in a fit of spite as soon as I left the cinema after watching the movie and have only now gone on to finish writing it. I have not done any grammar checking and I'd apologise if I weren't so relieved to be done with it.
> 
> I've never tried to create a religion specifically for a fic so I'm sorry if everything that takes place in the desert otherworld seems glossed over and nonsensical, but this is the best I could do.
> 
> Personally, I don't ship Reylo and probably never will, so that is why I have written this fic the way I have. However, if you choose to read this as Reylo, then that's fine. It's up to you, and honestly I don't really care. I'm just happy to have this fucking thing finished. Don't flame me.  
> \---  
> The title of this fic and of all the chapters come from T. S. Eliot's "The Waste Land"


End file.
